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The Camera

My sister’s camera is coffee colored
It’s sleek and smooth beneath my fingers
It’s only a piece of machinery
Hardly worth a poem
But then there’s the magic it creates
The memories it captures
It has seen my baby brother
Running around in only his boxers
It has seen me and my sister
Making sad faces, happy ones, gangsta ones
It has captured the moments in our lives
Graduations, birthdays, weddings
It has immortalized smiles, grimaces, laughter
The little things we might choose to forget
Our faces are forever remembered
Even if erased from our minds
Without being told, a camera will remember
It remembers the families it’s served
Remembers their faces, their laughs, their smiles
When you press “Recall” and find nothing there
Think of the ghosts of the family
And even if they’re dead and gone
If no one else, the camera will still remember




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